


Please Consider the Following:

by MWI



Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Depression, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1883661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MWI/pseuds/MWI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dear William Kaplan,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>St. Daleigh Adoption Services would like to inform you that a Mr. Shepherd, the aforementioned unnamed twin brother previously referred to in your correspondence with our agency regarding your birth, has made a formal request to meet you in person. Mr. Shepherd has also requested that all of his records be opened to you and yours to him; as St. Daleigh cannot proceed without your agreement to these terms, your identity is currently still concealed from Mr. Shepherd, and will remain so should you choose not to meet with him.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Please fill out the following forms with the appropriate boxes marked to signify your decision within one month of this letter's postmarked date, and mail them back to allow us to contact Mr. Shepherd to inform him of your choice. Our agency will contact you upon receiving these documents to pursue a further course of action should you wish to meet him, and as always, we are available through phone, email, and fax from 8:00 AM to 5:30 PM every Monday through Friday.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Best regards,</i>
  <br/><i>M. Hill</i>
  <br/><i>Executive Director of St. Daleigh Adoption Services</i>
  <br/><i>(555) 467-3385</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lowest Common Variable

This letter is not his reason for being alive.

Pinning all of his hopes on something that probably won’t even pan out is unrealistic -- truthfully, he doesn’t even think this is going to go well. Billy doesn’t have the best track record for making friends with strangers, especially not ones his age.

Especially not ones born eight minutes and seven seconds after him.

(No basis for comparison isn’t quite as shitty as his history with literally every person in the high school he used to go to, but Billy’s gotten into the habit of thinking everything he does is shitty, these days. So this is shitty enough to make him worried about how it’ll pan out in the end.)

The idea of having a twin brother is still so alien to him that he can’t figure out a way this will go well. Maybe the guy is just as worried as he is, but if he knew what kind of person Billy was, the mysterious twin brother who lives in the same city as him wouldn’t have ever wanted to get in touch with him. If they’d ever met on the street, Billy’s sure it would have only taken five minutes before his newfound brother ran screaming in the other direction. People usually run screaming because of _something_ \-- the gay thing, the psychiatrist parents thing, the comics thing, the “Hello, my name is Billy Kaplan!” thing.

It’s always something.

So he’s not putting any stock in this formal letter from the adoption agency, letting his parents know that someone he’s never met wants to dive headfirst into his life. They could have kept it hidden from him and just said no, but the fact that they brought it to Billy with brimming enthusiasm and hope and their thoughts on his best course of action obvious in the way they gushed about how important family relationships are, everything they do speaks volumes to how much they want him to meet his brother.

A twin brother.

Billy’s going to fuck this up spectacularly.

-

“You’re not going to fuck this up,” America says. “Hold the bag.”

“I’m going to, and I don’t know what you think I’m doing,” Billy peers at America from around the scratchy canvas, frowning. “This is the bag, and I’m holding it.”

She raises an eyebrow back at him, her hair pulled back into a ponytail that hadn’t quite bothered to grab all of the strands around her face. Her face is entirely unimpressed in a way that’s wholly America Chavez and somehow doesn’t make Billy feel like shit, because America is generally unimpressed with everything that isn’t Korean barbeque or high-tops.

They do this three days a week, a special exception to Billy’s general lack of friends and friend-related activities, and it’s one of the few things that manages to keep him feeling like a relatively normal human being. The two of them go to the gym, America thoroughly exhausts all of the equipment there and maybe humbles one or two of the amateur fighters with too much macho bravado while she’s at it, and Billy helps her keep track of her exercise routine.

To keep her from slacking off just because nobody’s looking, she says, but Billy thinks she just enjoys the company of someone whose muscles aren’t the size of his head.

In return, she lets him talk about what’s happening in the world of comics -- she’s particularly fond of Wonder Woman, as Billy found out when he brought up the lack of good comics about her, and once or twice he’s brought something like _A League of One_ or _The Circle_ for America to borrow. They have endless debates over the usefulness of Aquaman, and while Billy can’t deny that he’s definitely a sucker for blondes in spandex, America is still possibly the only person on the Earth who thinks Aquaman’s character arcs are actually interesting. Something about the whole idea of displaced royalty appeals to her on a fundamental level, somehow, in a way that Billy’s never wanted to question beyond playful teasing.

Everyone’s got their own dream, and America helps him so much that it wouldn’t really feel right to try and pry at the few secrets she keeps from him. They aren’t soul-sharing friends, not really, but he’s spent enough time with her that they’ve fallen into a rhythm of being able to trade off bits and pieces of secrets they normally keep from everyone else. Billy’s therapist and family get the abridged version of The Life of Billy Kaplan; America’s the one who gets the rest of it, all the ugly fragments of things he’s done and regrets and is terrified of doing in the future. America’s moms are just as loving as Billy’s parents, but they understand her about as well, and she’s not as comfortable telling them things over the dinner table as she is letting them slip casually while leaving semi-permanent indents in a punching bag.

They both compartmentalize, although he doesn’t do it in a way he’d ever call healthy, and Billy’s glad he has someone else who knows what he’s really like around. Even if she might not know how bad it gets in his head sometimes, it’s better than knowing as much as a bullshit inspirational tearjerker movie or a academically detached college degree, which is what everyone else assumes means they can understand him.

He thinks America’s happy to have him around, no matter what he’s actually like. America isn’t someone who never thinks, but she doesn’t over-think things like he does. She goes with her gut and does what she feels is right instead of spending forever locked in indecision and self-damaging thoughts and paranoia. That works more than his own damaged brain, which just traps him in -- well, _indecision and self-damaging thoughts and paranoia_ , all those good things his parents warned him about.

Like now, he realizes with a grin, as she thumps her fists against the bag and drags Billy back down to the reality of an unpleasantly humid gym on a Thursday afternoon.

“You won’t fuck it up,” America repeats. “Listen, _chico_. You go, you be yourself, and he’s going to think what he’s going to think. No matter how much you worry about it.”

She’s right, of course. America Chavez never dignifies thoughts that are anything short of what she knows is right. Billy’s sure that his twin brother -- and wow, that’s still a weird thought -- is thinking just as much as Billy is. It had been him who’d written in the first place, not Billy. So he had probably already thought about it way more than Billy even could.

“He’s your twin. Whatever shit’s going on in your brain is probably happening in his, too. Chemistry and all that. So stop worrying about it this much,” she says. “I’m not saying to not worry at all, but take a breather. You’re gonna kill yourself like this.”

America reaches around the bag to cuff him on the shoulder. Her version of a hug, he knows, enough of her terrifying strength peeled back that it doesn’t even hurt.

Well, it doesn’t hurt _much_.

“I’ll try.”

“Good. Hold the bag.”

-

Billy does try.

He tries not to worry when his parents’ hovering gets progressively more intense, when he overhears them tossing around concerns about a brother he hasn’t even met yet. They’re thrilled, but they’re also worried, and Billy doesn’t need any more reason to be worried. He’s having a hard enough time trying to keep it together at a manageable level as it is.

So maybe it is a little weird that it’s taken twenty years for his brother to get in contact with him -- maybe they could have met before, sure. There would have been plenty of opportunities for the two of them to get in touch, especially since they’re already both twenty. It took parental consent before eighteen, and even though Billy’s parents had been supportive, it wasn’t hard to imagine parents who wouldn’t want their son to do anything with someone they didn’t even know. The timing was a little weird, sure, but...

But Billy’s spent the last four years more off than on. But Billy’s life is just barely in control, and he definitely knows how hard it can be to get things working the way you want. Years of waking up every morning trying not to look too hard at himself in the mirror, barely scraping by at high school graduation and not even considering the option of going to college, learning how to play his cards just right to avoid his parents hovering without totally cutting himself off and causing the worst kind of meltdown.

Nothing about why Billy’s brother put it off this long would surprise him.

And hey, maybe Thomas Shepherd was just shy.


	2. Outlier

_socks shoes shirt brush my teeth find underwear throw away fuzzy cheese David’s missing watch is under the blue Ronettes album I should get a watch I wonder if William has one hm don’t I have a watch I don’t think I do where is my underwear maybe the cheese is still good no it’s not no that was a mistake better put it back in the fridge David will deal with it hope I don’t die from cheese where are my underwear I can’t show up in no underwear CAN I no bad idea bad idea was the cheese really bad I should test it again just to make sure maybe I put my underwear in here hey is that a Gogurt_

“Tommy, have you seen my shirt?”

“ _Ronettes_ ,” he says to his roommate, his words echoing around the inside of their fridge. His brain stutters for a couple seconds on a loop of thinking about Gogurts, giving the rest of him time to catch up, and he shakes his head fast enough to knock over an expired bottle of orange juice. “No, no, wait, no. No. Didn’t see it.”

When he pulls his head back into the barely warmer apartment air, his roommate is squinting at nothing. That was pretty par for the course, nothing new about finding a shirtless guy staring into space in his kitchen, so Tommy slipped by with his yogurty prize and just kept going.

His roommates were pretty weird, but pretty okay, Tommy couldn’t have asked for better ones, especially not better ones who’d be willing to put up with him. And especially-especially not better ones who’d be willing to put up with him that wouldn’t also be the kind of people that ended up in jail and couldn’t pay rent.

_not going to jail again NO don’t wanna be around those suckers gotta find my stuff left Noh-Varr in the kitchen hope he’ll remember to eat should remind him won’t remind him gotta do too much today David’ll remind him HEY there’s David_

“Tommy, Noh-Varr took my watch to make a ‘strobe galaxy’ last night -- don’t ask me what that is -- and can’t remember where he put it. Did you see it?”

_David should wear something other than yellow yellow is not his color doesn’t look too bad doesn’t look too great he should wear more green green is everyone’s color except sea-sick passengers man I wanna ride a boat SO BAD_

“Tommy,” David says, snapping his fingers to catch his attention. “My watch. Where.”

“Oh, I know this one! I’ve got it, got it, Noh-Varr put it under the blue album!” Tommy lifts his hands in a shrug, bouncing back on his heels, trying to figure out how to squeeze by David instead of getting roped into the search. “No idea where that is now, but I saw it!”

It’s not much of a lead, but it satisfies David enough for him to relax. “I’ve got a date today, can you make sure Noh-Varr doesn’t burn the apartment down?”

“Nope!” Tommy puffs out his chest proudly. “I have a date too! Well, it’s not a date, ugh, ew, no, that’d be weird, not a date. No. A family date! Is that a thing? That’s a thing.”

David is looking at Tommy like he’s lost his fucking mind. That’s also not new.

“Family,” he repeats. “You’ve got family. Are there more of you?”

“I have a twin brother!”

There are a couple of seconds where Tommy can see it slowly registering with David -- everyone is really slow, par for the course, he occupies himself with picking at a piece of lint on his sleeve -- before something clicks and he takes a couple steps away from Tommy.

“A twin? Two of you. Okay. I have to go.”

_is he nervous he looks nervous probably about his date haven’t met David’s boyfriend yet wanna meet him been years and years and years and OH there David goes hey he can be fast when he wants to be wait he left me with Noh-Varr this isn’t cool I want to hang out with William come ON David not cool wonder if Noh-Varr is just going to sleep all day_

Looping back around to contemplating his less organized roommate, Tommy wanders back into the kitchen and finds Noh-Varr asleep on the counter.

_gotta scrub that off he bathes I think I guess but the landlord doesn’t smell like clubs wait wait no he doesn’t like the smell of clubs Noh-Varr smells like clubs and ew I don’t know what that is even I know that’s gross man come on maybe I should scrub him off too_

Their kitchen is small, but between the three of them, the entire apartment always feels cramped. Tommy is constantly dodging to avoid David, who’s always looking for something he’s misplaced, or Noh-Varr, who’s always borrowing something of David’s or Tommy’s to repurpose for a project he usually abandons in boredom five minutes later. If they shared rooms or lived in a nicer part of town, it’d probably be worse, they’d probably worry more about rent and be under each others’ feet more, but over the past three years they’ve managed to get the balance down.

Mostly.

“Noh-Varr, get up! I’ve got someone coming and you can’t be asleep on the counter, he’s going to think I’m so weird, oh man, man, where is your _shirt_?”

“Lost it,” Noh-Varr replies, cracking open an eye with a grimace. “Had to lie down, and David is still here so I can’t lay on the floor right now. So, counter it is!”

“You smell,” he informs his bleary roommate without bothering to correct him on David's whereabouts. He’s got to get Noh-Varr into the shower and out of the way. “Like, so bad. Indescribably bad. Did someone throw up on you?”

“Mhm.”

“Was it you?”

Noh-Varr bites his lip.

“Dude, you have to stop throwing up on _yourself_. We went over this.”

“I tried to find a trash can! I really did. But there were goblins,” Noh-Varr is muttering as Tommy slowly guides him off the counter, steering him clumsily into the bathroom. “There were so many goblins.”

Without waiting for him to keep going on about goblin infestations, Tommy shoves him into the shower. “Less talking, more bathing! There’s soap! Please just wash off, I have someone really important coming over, I don’t wanna have to explain that you partied until your dinner tried to hitch a taxi back home and ended up on your only shirt.”

He takes a breath, watching Noh-Varr inspect the various half-used hotel shampoos stacked up in their shower, and yanks the curtain across like the sight had offended him.

“Scratch that, I don’t wanna explain your weird shirt thing at all. Clean. Now.”

“When did we get coconut shampoo? Is this David’s?” Noh-Varr peers out at him over the top of the railing on his tip-toes. “Do you think he would mind? I do love coconut.”

“Sure, okay, get _clean_ ,” Tommy says again, backpedaling out of the room.

Thankfully, he manages to escape before another barrage of questions starts up, and he skids into the living room with his thoughts even more scattered and panicked than usual.

_David is gonna be pissed whatever he bailed his loss my loss too but at least Noh-Varr won’t smell like a frat party anymore man I wonder if they serve pretzels at those things do we have pretzels did I eat anything for breakfast I should really eat later later later WHERE are my UNDERWEAR hey that rhymes_

Digging through his apartment’s various clusters of clothes, Noh-Varr’s borderline- to definitely-illegal piles of baggies, and David’s heaps upon heaps of school-related papers, Tommy ends up halfway into a stack of comic books and is nearly tempted into figure out exactly what is going on with Batman these days when the doorbell rings.

_HOLY FUCKING SHIT HE’S HERE HOLY SHIT holy shit holy shit holy SHIT_

He scrambles for the nearest thing he can find to underwear -- short-shorts that have someone’s phone number scrawled on one leg, good enough, they’ll have to do -- and tries to yank them on while he stumbles down the hallway.

“Hold on, I’m almost there, give me a second,” he tugs both legs into them and hauls his jeans up, fumbling with the button and crashing into an old school photo and then a now-shattered vase and then a half-eaten box of pizza sitting alone on a coffee table. Glancing back at the destruction in his wake, he decides he can deal with it later, no matter how bad the apartment might look with lopsided photos and shards of vase on the floor. The place was already shit anyway and -- _shit_ , Tommy realized, his brother was probably standing outside and about ready to leave.

_shit shit shit shit shitshitshit go go go go go GO_

“Gimme a second! Almost,” Tommy pulls his second sock on, tilting and slamming into the wall with the sheer force of the motion, and checks to make sure his shirt isn’t on backwards before he tugs open the door in one frantic motion.

_blue eyes black hair dark brown hair maybe no wait black that’s black he looks so small he’s the same size as me right right I think so he looks so TIRED oh man I hope I’m not freaking him out play it cool play it cool T you can do this_

“Hi,” his mirror image says, smile more than a little crooked and uneasy. “I’m Billy.”


End file.
